A Tale of Two Clients
by VikMik222
Summary: Sherlock and Watson are taking upon a case against an apparent 'old evil'... When a mysterious man comes to visit claiming an 'evil' man is after him, they soon realize that their client is holding a mystery they never thought they would face in their lifetime.
1. Chapter 1

**Note: **Well.. this is something I haven't dug up in a while. When I was in school (which wasn't long ago), I worked on a story about Sherlock Holmes verses one of the world's greatest vampires. Sadly, it's been done before, BUT this was something I really got into! (You'll probably notice by the quality because I usually got it checked by a teacher who was an author). I haven't completed it- before I could I lost half of the transcript because of technical errors... *shakes my fist* I'll be picking it up again, so I hope everyone enjoys!

* * *

I have seen many things within my profession, working beside the greatest detective in London (and my dearest friend) Sherlock Holmes. I have seen murders, blackmail, and fraud; everything no self-respecting man should be party to. There have been many cases which have brought me to a reluctant belief in the black arts and the supernatural. Many of these cases I have kept from the public eye in order to keep whatever order exists on the 'already hectic' streets of London. Too many have strong beliefs and the mere words 'supernatural' or 'evil' will cause more trouble within the pedestrian isles of England's capital and bring more work into the hands of an overburdened-Scotland Yard. However I did not true outcome of such a case, where I saw the

It began on a rather odd morning, I awoke slightly later than usual due to Holmes' infernal violin playing until three in the morning, due to a large influx of cases from the further reaches of England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, a few from America and one from France. I approached the living room to find Holmes looking over his small chemistry set where he was rather focused on a small experiment yet by the way the chemicals bubbled and fizzed, I kept my distance. I began the interesting job of going through the post in which I almost dropped due to Holmes finding his voice.

"Good morning Watson, do me a small favour and read me out any cases you come across."

"Really Holmes, you are already working more than four cases at once. You should really take five minutes to catch your breath."

Holmes merely laughed, not turning from his work and craned over the table to mix some of the liquids together, I did recall hearing a small curse beneath his breath as he burnt himself over a small burning flame. I read merely three letters, all which Holmes did not find interesting and merely grunted in reply for the next. As I read the fourth he suddenly swiveled on his stool and crossed one leg over the other and waved his hand.

"Please, read that one again Watson."

The letter read as follows;

_"Mr Holmes_

_I have been plagued with a terrible curse upon me and my family which threatens all of our best wishes and health's within the community. Hope was given to me when a close friend of mine recommended your services and I wish to speak with you at once on the matter and shall be visiting Baker Street at noon - in order to hopefully receive some of your most precious advice. _

_ Yours sincerely_

_A.S."_

Holmes got to his feet, took the paper from my hands, grabbed his pipe and then began toexamine the letter closely**,** at first with his naked eye, then to the light and then with his spying glass while he held his pipe between his teeth. He then placed the piece of paper down, grabbed his slipper from the floor and finally found some of his tobacco and placed it in his pipe. Finally he sat down in his favourite armchair and pondered over something for a short moment. I even took a look at the letter again to find any possibility to which could be of any significance to it other than a plea of an audience with Holmes. However to I, even being in the company with such a talented detective over the years, have barely had any of his observational skills rubbed off upon me.

"Anything capture your interest Watson?" He asked, looking at me with his usual keen and bright eyes. For a moment I was about to argue over the matter of taking a small rest from another case yet by the way he was showing me his sly and cunning smile that it would certainly be a hopeless crusade.

"Sadly nothing catches my eye but I am sure something has caught yours."

Holmes laughed heartily, which worried me to the point that perhaps Holmes had been near that dreaded needle once more during my sleep, the amount of cases were sure to push him to the blasted drug. I shook my head finally. Holmes passed me his spying glass, pointed to the window and finally commanded;

"Hold the paper to the light and look at the paper with the magnifying glass. I want you to look both at the writing, the use of vocabulary and the paper on which is has been written on."

And so I did exactly what he said and took on a few mental notes onto the ways the words were written. "Well the penmanship of the letter is rather fine, perhaps whoever wrote this is a gentleman or woman who works around the vocation of writing for most of their life? And the paper, it appears to be of...Irish origins?"

"Very good my friend!" He chimed. "Anything else?"

I looked upon the paper more, hoping that something would finally catch me by surprise and give an answer good enough to suit my friend's expectations. However my efforts failed me again and I shook my head once more. Holmes held out his hand to me and I gave him both the letter and glass. He waved me in to take a closer look.

"Here, look at the way they have written, you can tell that they were rather in a hurry to write and send this letter, the initials are incredibly soft yet not enough to be inconceivable to the reader which certainly shows their experience with pen. Now take another look at the ink and the way it has blotted on the paper. It is of the finest ink in England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland so it certainly proves that our mysterious caller does use one of the finest inks in England, rather expensive and rather ."

I chuckled and merely shook my head. "Well, you certainly know what you are doing my friend, yet I do wonder why you bother asking me to observe things I cannot find."

"I am merely challenging your mind my friend, just in case I am indisposed and maybe you are called to be the protagonist of a rather important case. Besides I have heard of your little cases which you took on during my absence a few years, yes they were rather simple for any detective but you must have picked up a few skills during those periods of time."[c3]

"Well obviously my mind cannot sustain as much as yours can." I talked, taking a cup of tea Mrs Hudson had brought into the room while we spoke. Holmes chuckled and then looked at the letter, he then took the envelope in which it came from, from the bin, and began taking a look at it yet then he came to the seal. He placed his pipe down and shuffled through a pile of new books upon his desk and picked up a bright yellow novel. I couldn't help but take a glance of the novel and blinked.

"Why do you have a horror novel Holmes?" I asked, rather worried. He had never really taken on the popular genres of the common novels which was popular within the pedestrians of London's streets.

"Well, am I not allowed to sample the public's literature?" He flicked through the pages for a moment and then closed the book, turning and peering through the window for a short moment. "I have heard much controversy over its plot and decided to look into it. Perhaps it may be a waste of money but for all that I completely know it would be rather entertaining to read, perhaps take hold a few laughs. Anyway, look at the author."

I looked beneath the red title and noticed the author yet suddenly felt as though Holmes had another victory within his little game of observation however I still did not understand the similarity of the B and A. "Bram Stoker?" I read which then my companion repeated with a smiled and flopped into his seat, smiling happily to himself.

"You see my dear fellow that many of today's good authors take upon a pen name, Bram Stoker being one of them, I will not be surprised to his reaction to his actual name when he finally knocks upon the door, and if I am not mistaken there was the expected knock. Come in!"

And with those simple words the door to our room was opened by Mrs Hudson followed by a taller and somewhat well-built man who walked into the room and looked upon me and Holmes. Mrs Hudson left after taking a few things with her which then our caller spoke.

"Are you Mr Holmes?" He asked, removing his hat and holding it beneath his russet beard. His features upon his face showed a strong man however his clothes spoke of another tale, showing he was a man with considerable wealth which Holmes had pointed out earlier.

"Yes and this is my companion Dr Watson. You must be Mr Abraham Stoker aka Bram Stoker." He announced getting to his feet.

The man looked at him with a tinge of surprise yet was not overly shocked. "I was certainly expected that from you Mr Holmes, the tales of your brilliant mind have traveled so far around the country, it was difficult for me not to know about your considerable detective skills. Please I am in need of your help." He spoke, having a rather strong Irish accent to his speech.

"Then please, sit down and tell your tale, which I certainly hope is nonfictional."

Stoker sat on the sofa, facing Holmes as he fiddled with his hat within his rather large hands, his eyes moving from one spot to another as they looked and glanced around the room. I stood beside Holmes with notebook in hand while waiting for the author's story. He soon cleared his throat, sat up straight and began.

"It was merely a month after my book was published, I had returned to my home here in London. We were celebrating what success it had yet the celebrating came to a terrible halt when I received a mysterious note saying that if I do not stop the publishing of my book then I will be **in **terrible danger. I merely took the note as some joke and threwit in the fire. Until three days later I received another letter it contained threats of being sued, physical threats and even death. I honestly did not know who sent me this letter, once again I merely placed it in the fire and tried to forget it but no matter what it began to frighten me, so I took it upon myself to tell my family to be careful without telling them the full truth. I didn't want to frighten them." He rubbed his temples for a moment, took a breath and continued. "Then strange things began to occur. I began to feel as though I am being followed; my wife has been approached by strangers, asking her different questions and more letters began to be sent through."

"Have you actually kept any of these letters?" Holmes asked, looking at Mr Stoker in a strange way.

"Yes, I have brought one along with me." He pulled up a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to Holmes. He read it two or three times by the way his eyes moved across the page. He finally placed the note down, which I took a look at that after Holmes had finished. It appeared to be from someone who certainly wasn't a fan of his work. There was truly not a sign to who have written the letter. However I did not have much time to fully inspect as Stoker continued;

"It is becoming frightening. If they are beginning to approach my wife, then they could approach my child and god knows what could happen if things become worse Mr Holmes, please help me to stop this fiend from doing anything terrible to my family."

Sherlock had leaned his head back against the chair, his eyes closed, his hands placed one on top of the other as he took in the new information. He then looked at Stoker and raised one of his eye brows and asked.

"Do you have an idea who could be sending you such... cumbersome letters?"

Stoker's eyes snapped open at the mere words; he licked his lips, fiddled with his fingers and sat shaking at the mere thoughts which I could see running through his mind.

"There... There is one man to which I believe who is sending me these letters."

"Which is?" Holmes added quickly, I could see had become rather keen over the matter, his eyes now focused upon our guest.

"Well... There is a man by the name Vlad Dracula."

I hadn't seen my dear friend hold back such laughter as I did then, he sat there, eyes still fixed but from the shaking of his shoulders it appeared it was merely moments before his strong restraints would break.

"Are you implying the subject of your novel is currently stalking you and threatening you with hate mail?" He asked. Stoker seemed as though he would either attack Holmes or merely fall to the ground like a frightened child.

"Please Mr Holmes do not look at me and my problem with amusing tones, I have never been so serious within my life! I have proof, I have seen him with my own eyes, I cannot let this creature destroy my life nor hurt my family, and you must help me Mr Holmes I beg of you."

Holmes sat there for a moment, all the hilarity removed from his features while he sat there. My friend removed himself from his seat and retrieved the small yellow novel, holding it within his hands and flicking through the pages. "Mr Stoker, are you truly saying that a creature that sucks on the blood of the living, controls animals with a single gaze and climbs up walls with no equipment what so ever is real?"

"No, not all of it is true yet I know it, from the depths of my soul he is evil."

"Then where is your proof Mr Stoker? I'm sorry but I cannot help you with such depravity of evidence towards a man, if he may be real or not, who may or may not contain supernatural powers. However if harm or danger is found within your family or yourself I shall certainly help you find the man and bring him to justice."

The author sat upon our sofa, eyes contently looking at Holmes while bit his lip and finally got to his feet. Stoker cleared his throat, rubbed the back of his neck with a reluctant sigh and held out his hand. "I would be honored and gracious for your help Mr Holmes." He spoke softly, almost sorry. "Yet even if you do decide to take on my problem there will always be the troublesome fact that what you are up against truly is a wicked and evil being."

"Believe me Mr Stoker, I have seen death and came back strutting as usual, I'm sure I can handle a fictional monster. Now, if anything does occur, return to Baker Street or send a telegram at once, my associate Dr Watson and I will respond as soon as possible."


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as Stoker left our rooms Holmes made a dash for the window, peering around the side of the fine net and looked out onto the street. "Watson, take a look." He called, waving his hand. I followed and looked to where he pointed. "See that young urchin on the corner? He appeared when I observed Stoker approaching Baker Street and now he is following him."

"Well he obviously couldn't be the one who is sending Stoker those notes."

Holmes drew back his head and roared with laughter, either at my joke or at another matter, which it usually is. He took his pipe and strode into his bedroom, grabbing his coat made his way to the door. "I think it is the appropriate time to take a look at our small assailant."

"But Holmes I thought you weren't going to take on the case?"

Yet before I could even retrieve an answer he had fled from both the living room and Baker Street. I took a short moment to see his striding figure follow in the same direction as the urchin. It appeared that Holmes took on an interest after the case after all.

I didn't see my companion for some time which left me with the peculiar problem of what to do during the evening so I took it upon myself to have dinner and feed my own curiosity towards the small yellow novel which was laid upon my dearest friends arm chair. I remember lying upon the sofa, rather comfortable with myself there as the fire blazed and gave into my imagination as my eyes danced upon every word. It appeared that the novel was cleverly written with the use of journal entries and documents (sounds incredibly familiar now that I think upon it.) Every piece of the novel seemed to have been as though a collection of evidence, given to the court and I even fear to say that even I thought that the novel could possibly have some familiarity of truth and data towards such unbelievable legends.

The last thing I remembered of that evening is feeling my eye lids grow heavy, the time was two in the morning and I curled up into the furniture and fell into a sweet slumber. Yet I have certainly learnt my lesson in sleeping on the sofa while reading a chilling book. As the light of the sun made me stir I felt odd, as though something else was in the living room with me and with the odd reading session from the other evening I felt a chill of fear run down my spine. I believed that perhaps one of those terrifying vixens from the book had come to retrieve my precious blood. I gave a petrified cry when I felt something touch my chest. I sprang from my seat, tumbling to the floor and finally seeing Holmes stood behind the sofa, arms folded and rather amused.

"My god Watson, I'm not _that_ terrifying am I?" He smirked; he was in a good-humoured behavior that morning which I realised that his exploits from the other evening must have been successful. He helped me to my feet and saw the state of both the sofa and myself. "Well, it appears we were both doing some interesting research the other night."

"Well... It certainly was an interesting read." I picked up the book, the pages in a rather peculiar shape after landing on the poor book. "How was your evening?" I asked following my companion to the breakfast table as Mrs Hudson shuffled into the living room with breakfast.

"Interesting... Certainly interesting..." He mumbled, picking up the paper.

"Well aren't you going to tell me what happened?" I asked, my curious nature piercing through my usual manors towards these situations. Holmes passed me the paper and pointed to the front page. I felt a chill run down my spine as I read the article; the picture certainly didn't help with my nerves.

"A murder? Holmes! You weren't involved were you?" I asked, blinking at him, I knew my friend wouldn't commit a murder however it would never really surprise me now that anyone could easily commit such a dastardly crime. Holmes chuckled and shook his head, taking a sip of fresh tea.

"No however I was around when I saw the body was dumped." He placed his tea cup down, leaning against the chair as he folded one leg over the other with a cat-like smile. "I followed the Urchin back to Stoker's home; the young boy was fairly good at following a gentleman without his knowing. He soon followed Stoker to the opera house, a restaurant and finally back home which took up most of the evening. Then the urchin began to pick up the pace, I knew he must have been going back to his employer and so I kept as close as possible without causing suspicion. The boy came to the docks where a carriage awaited. The boy handed the gentleman in the carriage a piece of paper, perhaps notes yet I am not sure and then the boy was rewarded with some guineas. As soon as those pennies were placed in his hand the carriage took off, I could barely make out the maker of neither the carriage nor the driver, it was rather fast."

"And what about the murder?" I asked, leaning in my seat as I listened intently.

"Ah, I'm getting there. I was walking back to Baker Street in fact, I walked towards an alley yet suddenly it happened rather fast for my liking, a carriage appeared, a young woman was thrown from its contents and the thing blazed off down the street. I barely had time to catch my breath when the body was thrown. I made my way to the body yet when I got there it was too late, the young lady was dead."

"Then why didn't you get help?"

"I couldn't, the risk of my cover being revealed was greater then I hoped and everything I have begun will never be finished. So I merely called fire, made a run for it and let some poor fool find the young maiden. Once I was content that she was found I made my way back here around the time of four in the morning. I saw you were still asleep and thought I wouldn't disturb you, you looked so comfortable."

I merely gave him a small glare, making his laughter louder while I took some tea. I certainly knew I would regret sleeping on the sofa, I always preferred my own bed to the small rather oddly feeling furniture. I decided to read the article with greater depth;

_A young woman was found early this morning upon Kent Avenue to which it appeared her body was thrown into an alley. Authorities were informed of the body after a stranger called 'fire' and few pedestrians found the young woman in the terrible state. The Chief Inspector of the investigation, Lestrade appeared upon the scene where his men found bite marks upon her neck, pale skin and horror upon her face (shown in picture.) Police are baffled within terms of death while many are crying that legends of 'vampires' are beginning to pierce through the rumors of the woman's death. No can identify body yet. _

"Well this is an odd series of coincidences." I added, finally placing the paper down and looking to Holmes. "An author who writes about Vampires, a mysterious hater of books and now a death of a young woman with bite marks, it all seems too adequately placed together."

"Yet I have sworn to not let this case be overcome with mere fairy tales." Holmes interrupted. "And I certainly hope you are not thinking of the same things as the London public."

"And am I not allowed to think of my own thoughts?"

"No." Sherlock rose to his feet, swiping the paper from the table and walked into his room to change, as he was in there he continued. "I think now would be a good time to officially visit our good friend Lestrade."

I shook my head chuckling; Lestrade was never truly happy to see either of us when Holmes wanted to be involved in any case which the London detective quickly got assigned too and I was sure Lestrade would have been delighted to take on such an odd case so quickly however we rarely see him ask for our help. I quickly freshened up and before we knew it we were both walking towards Kent Avenue.

Once we arrived, Lestrade and a few of his men were standing at the entrance of the alley, a small crowd gathering, gossiping some even gasping at the mere sight. Luckily Holmes and I were able to make it through and see Lestrade both shocked and agitated by my friend's presence.

"I see you got hold of the paper early." He mumbled, removing his hat. "And I'm guessing you two want to take a peek at the body?"

Holmes merely gave a smile and headed straight into the dark and dingy alley, his eyes already examining, searching, and exploring the dirty bricks, the litter and the filth on the ground. As usual Lestrade and I merely watched until that familiar hum or cry of triumphant caught our attention then again there was neither that cry nor hum. Holmes merely got to his feet and walked around the body, one hand behind his back while the other held his hat. Curiosity took over myself and decided to take a closer look at the body before us. The first thing that I noticed that the body had turned a deathly pale but the reports shown that the body was found not long ago so it would of had some sort colouration upon the skin. My eyes suddenly came to the attention of the puncture marks on her neck; a memory of the novel came into my mind it was though both Holmes and I had been thrown into the depths of Transylvania.

"Very peculiar..." I must have mumbled out loud as Holmes crouched beside me.

"What is it?" He asked. I pointed to the colouration on her neck, the bruising around it appeared to be as though something had perhaps broken or battered her collar bone and throat, by merely looking at it with the naked eye it appeared to be as though strangulation would have been the main cause of death.

"Perhaps I could do the autopsy of the young woman?" I asked, this particular case had caused me to grow some sort of fondness and I thought it would be more interesting that I took lead upon looking at the body. Lestrade and Holmes happily agreed, mostly Holmes though knowing that every bit of information written would be passed to him first.

Suddenly Sherlock's eyes flickered over the woman's clothes, raising his hand to the woman's corset. He ruffled with the piece of clothing for a short moment before pulling out a small piece of card with writing. He gave a victorious smile, holding the card in his thumb and forefinger as he looked at me.

"What is it?" I asked, looking at the rather soiled and dirtied piece of card.

"This, my dear fellow, is a clue. It is a small card, rather stiff, a good make and from a hotel. A hotel which has very good cards which means a rather expensive and high classed one in fact along with a rather nicely written room number which was written in black ink."

"Then what hotel is it from?" Lestrade interrupted, with frustration and questioning tone of voice.

"The Royal Links Hotel." My friend smirked, looking back at the woman. "I'm sure there we will get more interesting clues over this 'vampire'."

Lestrade looked a bit pale at the comment, taking the card from Holmes' hand and taking a look for himself. "I'll send some officers to the hotel immediately."

"There is no need to send too many officers Lestrade, Watson and I shall have a talk with the owner of this card and hotel room number thirty eight. Come Watson." Holmes got to his feet and strode past Lestrade; I gave a nod and agreed to an appointment of the autopsy later that day. Luckily for us the Royal Link Hotel was not far from the scene which did give some suspicion to the murderer which I could tell Sherlock had already begun calculating within his mind due to little talk we had on the way there.


	3. Chapter 3

The Royal Link Hotel certainly was a lavish hotel; I had passed it many times due to appointments and had rarely set foot on its steps. We were welcomed by the manager; it appeared that Holmes was associated with the manager due to a previous case. When we began talking on the customer in suite thirty eight it appeared that the manager had little knowledge of the customer.

"Well the only thing we recall was that the room was booked by a young gentleman, rather skinny, jittery and gave the hotel a note from the client. He also gave us enough money to put down a false name and ever since then no one has seen the gentleman go to his neither room nor leave. It certainly is odd."

Holmes asked for said letter, along with a small fee of a few shillings. Holmes took the small envelope and immediately read it there and then, scanning over the familiar writing and ink.

"May we see this room?" Holmes asked, the hotel manager was rather reluctant yet another guinea certainly made his mind change. He gave us a keep yet we had to find the room ourselves.

Once we arrived Holmes was first to unlock the door and stride into the musky room. It was strange, for a room which was occupied it certainly looked untouched. The curtains were tightly drawn while the bed had barely a single wrinkle on the finely decorated quilt. Holmes slowly made his way in the dim room; I myself began to wander, searching for something that could perhaps help. My friend made his way to the curtains, peeling the fabric away from each other to just merely peer out into the street. He then glanced at the bed, eye brows furrowed as his thin fingertips scratched his chin, his mind already kicked in once more.

"Very odd, for a man who had barely arrived the other night it is as though not a single person has laid hands upon this room and if I rightly remember the maids do not start cleaning rooms before noon and now we have the trouble of thinking _why_ he is not here and also the question _where_ is he?"

"Well perhaps we could ask the staff if they may have seen him."

"No, there won't be much point nor do I have enough money to keep bribing them." He spoke, walking to the door and craning his neck round to the hallway. "Well well..." He chimed, strutting from his spot and down the long hotel corridor. I followed and saw him at a door. He opened the heavy door and a fresh breeze blew into the corridor. "A fire escape..." He grinned. "And by the looks of things the stairs lead down to the alley which leads out onto a street. Perhaps our mysterious friend has ways of getting in."

"But then why was the room so... tidy?"

"I have a few theories on that my dear Watson." He closed the doors and strutted back. He went back to the windows and pulled the curtains fully and upon the window sill was a small pile of ash. "Someone certainly was here and he both smokes and writes." Holmes pointed to a small thumb print with black ink. "He obviously has been using a rather awkward pen which then leaked onto his thumb and left this lovely print."

"Well if he merely stays up here to look at the street then why has no one seen him?"

"Perhaps he shows up at night." Holmes smirked, obviously trying to make a joke out of the matter yet not working as much as he hoped.

"Then why at night?"

"Because he is trying to hide _something_ and that is _something_ we shall find out and you truly must stop asking so many questions and look with your eyes and think. They are God's gifts and it sometimes feels like I am trying to teach you how to use them." He laughed, I sometimes felt worried when my companion was in such high spirits however it was nice to see him in such a manor sometimes compared to his small periods of confinement to the needle. "Now I think this is the perfect time for a break, how about the opera, I heard that there are some rather interesting German musicians." He asked, leaving the room and making his way to the foyer.

I declined, I did appreciate some of my friend's tastes in music yet my curiosity within the case had overcome my usual thoughts and so I left him to the theatre alone and proceeded with the autopsy early. Being a doctor I had seen many things before which had confused me, picked at my interest and also question the ways that the body works. Here are a few notes from my note book;

* * *

_First incision into body... Very little amount of blood has been expelled, may be cause of little colour within the face and limbs. Also I have conducted a few experiments and found a small amount of a new chemical which appears to be for putting the body in a sleeping state. Also I have taken a closer look at the small puncture wounds. They seem to be an odd size yet there are only a small number of explanations to why and what caused them to be upon her being._

_There has been another thing to which has come to my attention, the quantity of blood within her body is scarcely low. I have looked at the main arteries and at the main areas of the hands and feet to where I discovered similar results. I have very little theories to think of how the blood had been taken from the body with very little wounds upon her being. The only other wounds upon her being to which I have found are the punctures wounds on her neck, scratches on both knees and a small wound upon her bottom lip._

_May need to conduct more tests on a later date if anything comes to both me and Holmes's attention._

* * *

Once I was quiet happy with the autopsy I hurried back to Baker Street immediately. However I decided to stop by the theatre to see if the morning shows had ended yet I did not realise it took me so long within the small and grimy room that evening was almost upon us. A large crowd from the afternoon concerts had began to flood the pavement and so I fought through the crowd to carry on my journey home. Then again as I passed a cab I couldn't help but over hear a small commotion over a lord and his servant. It appeared that a mature gentleman was rather upset with his man servant; he walked to the cab in a shroud, making it difficult to look at his features. He hissed and cursed in a foreign language along with a few English words such as 'fool' and 'appointment' yet what truly did grab my interest was the name he called him multiples of times; _Renfield._ Before I could grab any more information the man was in the cab and had disappeared around the corner. I merely shook it off, thinking I was merely hearing things due to lack of fresh air and headed home.

I got home just before dinner, the rooms of Baker Street were somewhat quiet as I walked through them and I could smell dinner cooking which a nice change it was to the police station refreshments. Within the living room I found Holmes upon the sofa, the yellow novel on his face while he laid there. I was glad to see him actually sleeping for once, over the past few days I thought he would collapse with exhaustion. I quietly made myself comfortable at the table, taking out my notebook and went over some of my notes.

"So find anything interesting this afternoon doctor?" Came the voice from the sofa. My hopes for some recovery of his sleep had suddenly been shattered.

"Well I did find a few interesting things." I passed him my notebook as I saw his pale hand wave from over the furniture. It was merely a few minutes before he rose like a monster from the crypt, his eyes fixed on the pages.

"Well... This does make things both interesting and complex." He placed the notebook down and got to his feet, taking his pipe and placing it between his teeth. "I think we need more to really start to piece this mystery together. What do we have?"

"Well..." I began as Mrs Hudson hobble into the room with the evenings dinner. "We have an author who is 'apparently' being harassed by a fictional character..."

"Which we know isn't supernatural... Thank you Mrs Hudson." Holmes mumbled.

"Yes, then we have a mysterious murder of a young maiden with puncture wounds and lack of blood and a mysterious gentleman who stays at a hotel but doesn't use it as a hotel should be used."

"There are many things a hotel can be used for my dear fellow; it just appears that our mysterious friend is either hiding said 'use' so that we cannot discover it... Or maybe there is someone else he does not wish to find out his truth." He sat down, pouring some wine and fiddled with his pipe in one hand. "Watson... What would you use a hotel for if you didn't go there for merely a visit to a family member or friend?"

I thought about his question for a short while as I began my meal, I couldn't believe the answers to which I thought of. "Perhaps a meeting?"

"What kind?" He asked, throwing the question at me.

"Well... I'm not entirely sure...There could be a scandal behind the meeting, perhaps something cynical. For all we know it may be purely an innocent act."

Holmes snorted; he obviously had an answer to his own question and placed his pipe down. He barely touched his food throughout the meal, he merely sat and thought. We both looked to the door when Mrs Hudson knocked on the door with a note. Sherlock was the first to take the note, looking at it. It had the same writing and ink as the letter and hotel card from before. We both looked each other and read the note again;

_Mr Holmes, I require an audience with you at once, I will visit Baker Street at midnight and I request both your audience and one final but crucial demand. Can you please remove or cover every mirror within your rooms when I arrive. _  
_V .T_


End file.
